Page 17 of Saving Destiny

The craziness of the last week is overwhelming. I feel like I've been swept up in a tornado, which spat me out battered, bruised, and questioning my sanity. Oz isn’t too far from the new world I’ve entered, and my lips twitch when I imagine the goblins as munchkins. Duggar is too grumpy to sing and dance, but I would gladly drop a house on Addington or Walthers if I could.

My brief amusement fades when I recall Kodi’s near brush with erasure; Walthers almost drained him … again. I’d encountered my share of hopelessness and pain at the orphanage, but Kodi was beside me for every agonizing event. We could make anything tolerable with laughter, sarcasm, or a good story.

Although he’s just down the hall, it feels like my best friend is still adrift and miles away from me. Having three other guardians doesn't alleviate the ache in my chest. Kodi and I share a special bond. Not only did he go through captivity with me, but he also saw me through the angst of my teenage years and puberty. He’d pulled me from the brink of suicidal ideation more than once. He’d warned me that being a ghost is uncomfortable, but he’d also sworn to prevent me from entering the afterlife, if one exists. Essentially, he’d threatened to haunt my ghost with as much tenacity as he haunted my life. Although I feel dramatic for saying so, the prospect of losing him is more than devastating. It would undo all the positivity of arriving at Apocrypha.

I’m not lying when I say I don’t blame him for the past. I can’t blame him. Someone else would have taken his place, but no one else would have saved me. Kodi did. In the end, that’s all that matters. If he hadn’t sacrificed his life to save me, I wouldn’t be here. The library might have fallen into the enemy’s hands. From what I’ve heard, the library in the hands of a corrupt man would have endangered the entire world. Kodi’s heroic deeds saved more than just me.

I don’t bother getting out of my wheelchair as I stare blankly at the wall. Regardless of my pain and sadness, the library opens in less than a week, and I promised Sage I’d do my best. My heartache needs to be secondary to my duties. Although a joyful mood isn’t required, I still have to be the librarian.

My eyelids flutter closed in preparation to confirm Gilly’s surprising declaration. Supposedly, I have access to every book in the library without having to read them. It doesn’t surprise me as much as it should because I’ve always possessed a gift for information retention. I’d completed my diploma in two years rather than four despite not receiving a proper primary education. The local secondary school hadn’t been equipped to accommodate my needs, so they’d sent me a laptop instead.

I’m not a genius, but I possess a photogenic mind for words and information. I’d always justknownthings, too – information I don’t remember learning. Had I accessed the library’s repository before coming to Apocrypha? If knowledge is my birthright, it’s a possibility.

Wading through an abundance of information is more difficult than it sounds. I struggle to choose the perfect keyword because there are too many subjects I want to research. I’m curious about the interaction between magic and advanced technology, the impact of magic on fetal development, the OSC’s history and composition, the library’s role in the supernatural world … and … on and on. There’s no end to the answers I seek, especially once I selfishly add how to make a ghost corporeal. The last one isn’t vital to the world, but I can’t stop thinking about it.

Now … how do I access the books? I contemplate the logistics for a moment before I decide to pretend my brain is an internet search engine. My lips twist into a mocking smile as I imagine a blinking cursor on the back of my eyelids and inputmagic and electronics. My visual brain types each letter separately as I press my fingers onto my thighs as if I have an actual keyboard because … well … because I’m a dork.

Thankfully, I’m already sitting down because the moment I press an invisibleenterbutton, a tsunami-like wave of data nearly knocks me over. Information pours into me, arriving from my mind and outside sources all at once. The deluge is so overwhelming that I start panting as if I’ve just run a marathon.

I experiment with several methods before I stumble upon an efficient way to decrease the flood of data to a useful trickle instead of a whirlpool. Similar to using the internet, I need to discard everything I don’t need. Thankfully, my brain isn’t subjected to pop-up ads or sponsored content. Pure, unadulterated wisdom flows into me. Strangely, it's accompanied by a sense of euphoria. I've never dabbled in the magicless' recreational drugs, but the effects seem similar.

The process is faster, but it’s not as pleasant as reading. I enjoy consuming the individual words on a page and translating them into images and movies. This is more like downloading three books at a time directly into my brain. When the texts are tedious or boring, however, this is preferable. Part of me wishes I could have learned physics this way; the addition of mathematical formulas to a subject that is equally scientific and theoretical gave me a headache. My mind prefers words to numbers, and it always has.

Time passes in a blur as I sit motionless, gathering information like a rock collecting moss. Pain finally forces me to shake off the strange trance. My body is stiff from not moving and my stomach cramps with insistent hunger. My nostrils flare, catching the scent of cooking food. The bedrooms are soundproof, but they don’t disguise odors. It’s a good thing. The delicious smell probably persuaded my body to alert me.

A pained whimper leaves me as I stretch my legs slowly and carefully. My left foot has fallen asleep. I breathe deeply through the pins and needles that gradually replace the numbness.

An insistent growl from my stomach finally motivates me to leave my room. Although I’m sore, I grab my forearm crutches to encourage blood flow into my limbs again. Three of my guardians occupy the main room of our shared apartment, but the one I most want to see isn’t among them.

Although I’m uncertain whether I’m ready to join them, I can’t just ignore them. Besides, I have information to share with them.

When their gazes find me, I remind myself that it was my idea to compile our living quarters into one place. I asked to be closer; now, I have to deal with the consequences.

Although the three men sit at the dinner table with full plates of food, it doesn’t look as if they’ve started eating. My spot at the table, the head of it where my wheelchair fits the easiest or a wheeled chair can be added if I’m on my crutches, has a place setting waiting for me.

The men's combined attention makes me want to retreat, but I steel my nerves and offer a shaky smile. Bren returns it. His eyes still bear shadows, but they are less prominent than before. I hope my discoveries can chase away the remainder of his dark mood.

“We argued about whether to disturb you.” Garrett’s tone is gruff, and he doesn’t bother with a greeting. I try not to be offended because his usual mood is grumpy. My mind recalls the image of his griffin as seen through the gargoyle’s vision. I wouldn’t have guessed his beast. Unlike wolves or bears, his human form doesn’t offer any clues about his shifter form.

Bren jumps to his feet and collects a chair for me, and I set aside my crutches to sit. All of the chairs have wheels; it’s one of Sage’s ingenious ideas. My crooked legs make it difficult to maneuver the heavy chairs into place. I almost protest when Bren remains to fill my plate, but I would have handed it to one of them anyway, so I focus on something else.

“I was in the middle of gathering information, but it looks and smells amazing. Actually, the smell is what lured me out of my room. Did it magically appear?” It doesn’t look like the library's usual fare.

I glance at Garrett when he fidgets, but he avoids my gaze. The creamed spinach that fills half of his dish seems to fascinate him; a huge slab of meat occupies the other half. Does he avoid carbs intentionally? His body suggests that he doesn’t indulge in sweet cravings or starchy, limited-nutrition foods. Thankfully, Bren adds a large helping of roasted baby potatoes to my meat and vegetables. I can’t refuse potatoes. The thought makes my chest ache as I imagine Kodi teasing me about secretly being a hobbit.

“My brother is an amazing chef,” Bren boasts proudly. “He’s practiced for years, and the library knows what ingredients he needs. At home, he kicked the chef out of the kitchen if he was feeling creative. He always made mountains of food so there’d be enough for the staff. It was usually just us and them anyway.”

Bren’s explanation begins lightly but ends with a darker tone that seems discordant with his praise. It has to mean he’s thinking of his father. “You don’t have to dance around the subject of your home or childhood for me. I want you to talk about whatever’s on your mind.”

The mage glances at me with surprise that indicates he'd already been lost in his thoughts. He’s retaken his seat, but he just stares at his plate. He glances toward his older brother, who still avoids looking at me directly.

“Addington didn’t like it when I cooked, especially when I fed all of the extra food to the staff,” Garrett mutters with a heavy sigh. “He said it was below me to do a servant’s job, especially when I served the servants.” He pauses a moment before continuing, and I feel like I’m holding my breath. “He got really mad when I told him that Ilikeddoing it. He told me I should have been born to a lower class and didn’t deserve to be his heir. Because he was a jerk about it, I couldn’t practice as much as I wanted. I only cooked meals when he was away on business trips and was unlikely to return halfway through them. Of course, he threatened the chef, too, so I always had to send him away before I took over his kitchen. I didn’t want him to get punished for my stubbornness.”

I curl my fingers hesitantly around his clenched fist. I’m not certain how he’s going to react to my touch, but his fork is starting to bend in his grip. The shifter jolts with surprise, and I almost withdraw my hand. He releases the abused cutlery, though, and takes my hand, offering a slight squeeze in return.

My stupid heart skips a beat, and I start babbling to disguise the emotion. “I haven’t tried it yet, but I’m sure your cooking is far better than anything I’ve eaten in the last few years – perhaps my entire life.” My tone is deliberately casual, despite talking about my meals in prison and at the orphanage as if they can compare to a hired chef’s cuisine. “The woman who prepared our meals at the orphanage was definitely not a chef. I doubt she was even trained as a cook. Our diet consisted of government rations that came in cans meant to serve fifty people. Half of what we were given was inedible.”

I study my plate with curiosity. “Spinach has never been a favorite food of mine, but I’ve also never seen it look or smell like this. Our spinach came from a can, and it was probably expired. ”

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